


Never / Always

by Medeafic



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Bondage, Bullying, Collars, Dom/sub, M/M, Safeword Use, Safewords, childhood bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the old Pinto kink meme, for the prompt: I would be eternally grateful if some kind soul out there would grant me my highest kink-pinto wish: Safeword fic! In most bdsm/ds fic with Zach and Chris the dom can do anything and the sub can take it, but what I really want to see is a fic where the dom do something (something scary, I'm a total angstslut), and the sub totally freaks out. Preferably some tears and shaking, followed by comfort and a lot of aftercare by the dom. I prefer dom!Zach and sub!Chris, but the other way is fine too. Please? *Puppyeyes* :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never / Always

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to help fill the 1000 Pinto fic challenge.

Zach runs a finger under Chris’s collar and gives it a tug, watching his face. “How are you doing?” Chris is kneeling, hands bound behind his back.

He’s panting, which can be a good sign or a bad sign. But his blue eyes are blank and it’s a little worrying. “Hey,” Zach says, leaning in closer. “Do you want me to dial it back a bit?”

But Chris doesn’t say anything, and again: worrying. Normally he can’t shut up during a scene. Normally he backchats and expresses surprise or pleasure; talks about how much he loves it or what he wants to do to Zach to say thank you. He’s only ever silent if Zach orders it, and even then it’s a struggle.

Zach crouches down to eye level and looks at him. His gaze is unfocused, so Zach cups his hands around Chris’s face and tries to get his attention. “Can you hear me? Yellow? Slow down?” He places his fingers on Chris’s hands, wondering if the ropes are too tight.

Chris shakes his head slightly, and he’s breathing too fast now, trying to say something, and Zach recognizes the word from the shape of his lips. He’s already reaching for the emergency shears when Chris manages to get it out.

“Red. Oh, fuck. Red.”

Zach is already cutting, reaching around him so that as soon as the ropes fall away, Chris drops forward into his arms. “It’s okay,” he says. He keeps his voice is calm and clear and is astonished by his own control. Because he’s frightened to his core at what he’s done.

Chris has never been big on having his hands tied. All the other stuff he likes just fine. He’ll take physical punishment gladly and he never comes so hard as when Zach whispers horrible humiliating things in his ear. He loves play piercings, and toys that thud, and toys that sting. He loves his collar and lead as much as any dog hearing the word “walk”. And he will hold his own hands down and not move if that’s what Zach asks, and he will let Zach hold him down so hard that his bones dig into Zach’s palms.

But Chris hates rope or metal or cloth or plastic around his wrists. Nothing around the wrists, not ever. He doesn’t like it.

They talked about it early on. And then again later. Perhaps it’s because Zach couldn’t have it that he wanted it so bad, that one thing, but he tried not to push. Then one day Chris came to him, nervous, and said, “What the hell. Let’s try it.”

And this is where they’ve ended up: Chris shaking and trying to push away, Zach trying to pull him closer and provide some sort of comfort. Chris keeps saying _Red, red, red_ , like he’s not sure if they’ve stopped, or like red is all he can see.

His eyes are so wide that they’re watering, or else he’s crying; Zach isn’t sure.

“Baby,” Zach says, still calm, still holding on to his control, because if he loses it too, worse things might happen. “We’re done. You’re free. Look at your hands.”

Chris starts blinking then, and looks at his hands, pushing against Zach’s chest. “Fuck,” he says. “No. No, no, no, never ever again.”

“Not ever,” Zach agrees. “Never.”

“Red.”

“I know. Total red.” Zach watches him carefully, sees his pupils start to go back to a normal size; they were dilated with fear and not in a good way. “Can you get up? On the bed?”

Zach has to lift him, and Chris is still shivering. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” They slump onto the bed and Zach wraps his arms around him, tight but not too tight. “I’m sorry,” he says into Chris’s hair. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Chris is all clenched muscles and tendons standing out. “Like in drama class, remember?” Zach says. “Relax all over. Toes first and your feet. Work your way up through the muscle groups.” Eventually Chris stops breathing so hard, stops fisting his hands up so hard, starts to let his chest relax. Zach can feel him getting looser all over. “Oh, my poor baby,” Zach says, kissing him gently. “I really fucked up, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, it was – bad memories,” Chris says, his voice barely a whisper. “Wasn’t your fault.”

But Zach knows he’s to blame for this. “I should have noticed,” he says. “I’m sorry.” Later, he’ll let himself give in to the blame and recriminations and disgusted looks at his own reflection in the mirror, but right now Chris is the only important thing.

“It’s okay,” Chris says. “Just didn’t expect it to be that bad.”

Zach’s brain is screaming, _what happened?_ , but he says nothing, just rubs Chris up and down his back, soothing him and petting him like he does after every session. It works well enough. The ritual elements help him calm down.

“Fuck,” Chris says at last. “Fuck _me_ , that was unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry,” Zach says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Nah,” Chris says, approximating a laugh. “Nah, it was me. I just didn’t think it would be like that.” He’s back in himself properly now, rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

“Okay. It’s not my fault and it’s not yours. Just a miscalculation.” Chris swallows, looks at Zach. They’re side by side, looking at each other from the same pillow, noses almost touching. “There was a thing,” he says. “Once. On a school trip. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Zach says. “Okay.”

“I mean, it wasn’t bad really. It was just, they left me there.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Chris nods. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Zach kisses him gently. “We were camping and they tied me up to a tree and left me there all night and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Zach tries to stop his eyes showing the rage building up inside him at nameless, faceless people. “I love you,” he says for good measure.

“I love you too. They left me there all night and I thought I was going to die.” Chris looks bewildered. “Who does that? They didn’t even care, just laughed at me the next day.”

“How – how old were you?” Zach asks.

Chris closes his eyes. “Twelve. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Okay.”

And then Chris is crying, big horrible sobs coming out from deep in his chest, and Zach wants to cry too but he can’t, not now, not yet. He pulls Chris close and says meaningless phrases, makes comforting noises, and holds back his own tears so hard that his eyes hurt.

When Chris is all cried out, Zach kisses him again, over his wet eyelids and his damp cheeks and his gasping mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll never do that again. Never do that to my baby again, you’re so good, I love you so much. I’ll take care of you better from now on.”

Chris takes a deep breath and tries to say something, but it just comes out as a whimper. He clutches at Zach’s shoulders, pulling him down to his mouth and groans when their tongues touch. Zach stays gentle, soft, until Chris’s tongue gets more insistent. “You always take good care of me,” Chris says when Zach moves to his neck. “Always.”

“Always?”

“Yeah. Always.” Zach kisses his nose and Chris smiles.

They shuffle around so they can pull the comforter over the both of them, and Zach makes sure he always has at least one hand on Chris, letting him know he’s safe, that everything’s okay. He strokes Chris’s hair, kisses his temple, murmurs about love in his ear until Chris makes his happy noise and smiles, smiles, smiles.

“So, do you wanna...” he asks Zach, raising an eyebrow.

Zach shakes his head. “Not – not yet.”

“I freaked you out.”

“You kinda did, yeah. No, don’t say it-” Zach kisses him again to stop the _Sorry_ he sees coming. “Do you want to take this off for a bit?” he asks, touching the collar.

Chris looks alarmed. “Hell, no."

“Okay.”

“It makes me feel safe,” Chris says awkwardly, getting a little pink in the cheeks.

Zach grins. “Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

“I want you,” Chris says, mouthing at Zach’s collarbone.

“You’ve got me. Always.”

“Always,” Chris agrees.


End file.
